III. Inside Lukavica Detention Center: The Facility, Its History, and What Life Looks Like There
This blog is part of our series unpacking findings from our new report on Lukavica, Bosnia and Herzegovina’s only official immigration detention centre. This time, we focus on the place itself, how and why it was built, what it looks like from the inside, who is held there, and what daily life in detention actually means in human terms.
A short history of Bosnia’s only immigration detention centre
Lukavica Immigration Centre was opened in 2009, built with significant funding from the European Union. The facility was part of BiH’s EU pre‑accession roadmap: a visible sign that the country was aligning its border and migration control to European expectations under the Stabilisation and Association Agreement.
The EU allocated around €1.2 million for the initial construction, including supervision, furniture, equipment and vehicles, with the EU Delegation in Sarajevo acting as the contracting authority. Over time, what began as a single facility with a nominal capacity of 78 places has quietly evolved into a cornerstone of Bosnia’s growing detention and deportation regime.
Freedom of Information responses show that between 2018 and 2024, 4,631 people – including 115 children and 263 women – were detained in Lukavica, even though the centre officially claims a capacity of just 120 places. In 2018 alone, a media article described the centre as “almost full” with 78 people, while FOI data reveal that 948 individuals passed through its doors over the year, underlining how opaque the real use of the facility has been.
Since 2022, a new wave of expansion has been underway: IOM tenders for construction of additional floors, new kitchens, sanitary systems, furniture and surveillance systems point to a steady increase in capacity and control, financed again by EU funds, but largely shielded from public debate.
Where Lukavica is - and why so few people see it
Physically, Lukavica Immigration Detention Centre sits on the outskirts of East Sarajevo, in Republika Srpska, far from the city’s everyday rhythms and public transport routes. It lies in an industrial‑residential fringe area rather than a central neighbourhood, which means most residents will never pass it by chance; family members, lawyers or journalists can only reach it through a deliberate, often complicated journey out of town.
This geography matters. A facility tucked away on a hill at the edge of the city, in an entity different from where many people live and work, is easier to ignore, and harder to monitor. Lukavica is run by the state‑level Service for Foreigners’ Affairs (SFA), but located in an entity where state institutions have limited day‑to‑day visibility.
Because observers are not allowed to take photographs, and only a small number of former detainees have been able to share their experiences in detail, even basic information about the layout of the centre has had to be reconstructed from testimonies and monitoring visits.
What Lukavica looks like from the inside
Based on conversations with former detainees and organisations such as Human Rights Watch, a rough picture of the facility emerges. Lukavica is made up of at least three main buildings: a two‑storey unit for men, a separate building with women’s and family rooms, and a third building that functions as a canteen.
Inside the residential blocks, there are common areas on each floor, but both detainees and monitors describe them as rarely used because people are mostly kept inside their cells. Each cell generally contains two bunk beds, meaning four people share a room the size of a small bedroom; in practice, former detainees told us that three to five people often end up sleeping in the same cell.
Cells have barred windows and a solid security door that can only be opened from the outside, so detainees cannot move without staff permission. When they are allowed out, to see a doctor, meet a lawyer, or occasionally go outside, they must be escorted by guards.
There is a marked difference between old and new parts of the centre. Older cells are described as “very outdated”, with broken toilets and damaged furniture that has not been replaced for years. Newer cells, added as part of recent expansion works, appear slightly better: each has its own toilet and less visibly deteriorated fixtures.
Lukavica also has isolation cells used for solitary confinement, supposedly for people seen as a threat to themselves or others. These rooms, however, contain features like an internal sink and a protruding pole that external observers consider dangerous for people in distress, as they can be used for self‑harm. Former detainees describe cameras “everywhere”, creating a sense of constant surveillance without real protection.
Who is detained in Lukavica?
FOI data from the SFA provide a rare snapshot of who ends up behind Lukavica’s walls. Between 2018 and 2024, annual numbers ranged from just under 450 to almost 950 detainees per year, with men heavily over‑represented and only a small portion of women and children in the official statistics.
Over this six‑year period, 4,631 people were detained, including 115 children and 263 women. The largest national group is consistently Turkish nationals, followed by significant numbers of people from Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Algeria, Morocco and China. Many of these countries have readmission agreements or other cooperation frameworks with BiH, which makes deportation administratively easier and therefore detention more likely.
Moroccans, for example, have been heavily represented in IOM’s Assisted Voluntary Return and Reintegration (AVRR) programmes, while Pakistan has a formal readmission agreement that has allowed the return of hundreds of people in recent years. Yet, even with this data, one crucial piece remains missing: there is no publicly available information on how long people stay in Lukavica or what happens when a deportation order cannot be carried out.
Behind these numbers are individuals whose journeys are often shaped by a mix of war, persecution, poverty and blocked legal routes to safety. Once they arrive at Lukavica , whether from a border arrest, a raid on a reception centre like Blazuj or Lipa, or a transfer from prison after serving a sentence, they are absorbed into a system that rarely explains itself and is extremely difficult to navigate.
Conditions inside: what the state says, what people live
On paper, Lukavica looks almost like a model facility. In FOI responses, SFA describes a centre that meets human‑rights standards: on arrival, clothing and belongings are washed or disinfected; each person receives a medical examination within 24 hours; health care is provided by a public health centre in Lukavica, with a permanent nurse, visiting doctors, psychiatric services and referrals to hospitals when needed.
SFA also claims that people are immediately informed of their rights, to free legal aid, to apply for asylum, to health care, to consular contact and to family or lawyer visits, with information posted in multiple languages on notice boards and in brochures in detainees’ rooms.
The stories we collected paint a very different picture.
Hygiene, cells and cleaning
Detainees and monitors describe older sections of Lukavica as dilapidated: broken toilets, damaged fixtures and cells taken out of use only when they become completely uninhabitable. Former detainees report walls covered in black and green mould, poor ventilation and minimal natural light, conditions that affect breathing, sleep and general well‑being.
People are expected to clean their own shared rooms, while cleaners pass quickly through corridors and rarely enter cells. None of the people we spoke to mentioned being provided with adequate cleaning supplies, raising obvious questions about how they are meant to maintain basic hygiene in a mold‑infested environment.
Food, water and basic items
Food is repeatedly described as inadequate, both in quality and quantity. Lawyers from Vaša Prava and former detainees report that breakfast usually consists of a small piece of bread with a thin smear of spread, often ketchup or a bit of sausage, with similar simplicity for other meals and a marked drop in quality on weekends.
One former detainee recalled receiving a small slice of bread and sausage for breakfast, soup for lunch, and bread with yogurt for dinner, without fruit or vegetables. He said he never received any vitamins, and another man said the food was “so bad that even a dog wouldn’t eat it.”
Water access is also a serious problem. Multiple accounts describe no hot water and extremely limited drinking water, with people often forced to drink from the small sink next to the toilet in their cell. One man reported that detainees received only one or two cups of water per day, plus an occasional bottle of hot water, far from sufficient for basic hydration, let alone health.
People are given one set of sheets and a small starter kit of hygiene items; anything beyond that usually has to be bought through an internal “canteen” system using money deposited by relatives. Many detainees say they were never told this system exists, and some report that money they had on them at the time of detention was taken to “cover” the cost of their stay.
Isolation, outdoor access and discipline
Lukavica has an isolation cell used for solitary confinement, including for people considered at risk of self‑harm. HRW and others have raised concerns that, because of features like the sink and pole, these cells actually increase the risk of suicide rather than reduce it.
Accounts speak of extremely limited outdoor access, despite rules that promise at least two hours outside per day. Vaša Prava and detainees reported periods where people were not allowed outside for months, in clear breach of both domestic regulations and international standards. One man told us that during his two months in Lukavica he went outside only twice, and was usually not even allowed into the corridor.
Detainees and lawyers describe an atmosphere of fear and control. Some mention being given tranquilizers to keep them quiet, while others recount insults, humiliation and physical violence from guards, including those employed by private security companies contracted in earlier years. Even detainees who did not experience direct violence say they lived with the constant sense that “the police can do anything, and no one would know.”
Health care and mental health
Officially, Lukavica has a nurse on site and a doctor who visits regularly, with referrals to Kasindol hospital and Sarajevo University Clinical Centre where needed. In practice, detainees describe long periods where no one checks on their wellbeing unless they actively insist on help, even though cameras are in place and staff could see if someone appears unwell.
One man told us he lay in bed for long periods without anyone asking if he was okay; when he asked for glasses due to poor eyesight, he received no response. Another man with severe tooth pain told a lawyer he eventually pulled out all his teeth himself because he could not bear the pain and had not been given proper treatment.
The mental health impact of prolonged, uncertain detention is also profound. Past reports documented people sinking into deep depression, including an Algerian man who became almost unable to speak to others after a year inside Lukavica. The centre’s own records confirm at least one death after just three days in custody, a stark reminder of how quickly neglect and stress can become fatal.
Why this facility matters far beyond its walls
Lukavica is more than a building on the edge of East Sarajevo. It is the physical core of Bosnia’s immigration detention system, a space where EU funding, national security narratives and everyday violence intersect. For seventeen years, it has operated with minimal transparency, despite repeated warnings from the Ombudsman, the European Court of Human Rights, UN mechanisms and human rights organisations.
By reconstructing what Lukavica is, how it looks, who it holds and what life there is like, our report aims to make it harder to treat the facility as an abstract “centre” on a map. It is a place where specific people sleep in mouldy cells, ration water from sinks next to toilets, fear beatings and deportation, and wait for legal remedies that too often never arrive.
In the next pieces, we will look more closely at legal remedies, children in detention and the role of EU externalisation policies, but all of that starts here, behind Lukavica’s locked doors.
Words by Anna Gruber, Advocacy Manager